Third Victim (2 page)

Lido was doing his best to look for evidence, but I could see that the terrible wound was distracting him. I was by no means a veteran, but I had seen enough carnage to prevent the victim’s injury from getting to me. I studied the rubble on the floor around him before checking the ceiling, which looked to be largely intact. “No, sir. Something is off here.”

“What do you mean? Do you see something?”

“It’s what I don’t see that concerns me. I don’t see dislodged bricks or chunks of mortar—no heavy fallen beams or large pipes either.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I don’t see anything heavy enough to cave in a man’s skull like that. I’m saying that the explosion might not have caused a wound that severe.” I pressed my fingers against my lips while my sixth sense did the heavy lifting. “He might’ve been bludgeoned with a heavy object and …” I wanted to see if Lido would pick up on what I was thinking.

A light twinkled in Lido’s eyes as he completed my statement, then his eyes grew large. “The explosion was nothing more than camouflage, an elaborate tableau someone devised in order to hide this victim’s homicide.”

I smiled. My new partner was no dud. “There’s hope for you yet, kid,” I chided as I leaned in close for a better look. “The victim’s mouth and jaw have been completely pulverized. No face and no possible identification by means of forensic odontology. Presuming the victim’s fingerprints aren’t on file anywhere …”

“It’ll be almost impossible to identify the remains,” Lido espoused.

“That’s correct, but as difficult as it might be to make a positive ID, it should be fairly easy to rule out who the victim is not.” I held up the plastic evidence bag that contained the victim’s wallet. “And that, my young bloodhound, is how we’re going to catch the SOB who caused all this damage.”

Chapter Two

“That’s a hell of a theory, Chalice,” my CO announced through clenched teeth.
Sonellio was trying something new. He had an empty pipe in his mouth and was chewing on the stem. I didn’t know if it was going to help him break his habit, but if he smoked even one less cigarette per day as a result of it … well, then I’d call it a success. He’d been smoking for decades and was hopelessly addicted to nicotine. His skin had that unhealthy grayish pallor that was common to heavy smokers and he couldn’t speak three consecutive sentences without treating us to one of his smoker’s coughs. I had this horrible image of his lungs, hardened, graying, and becoming necrotic. “What do
you think
, greenhorn?” Sonellio wasn’t giving Lido a hard time. It was simply the way he spoke. To know the man was to love him despite his use of unconventional descriptions.

“I guess forensics will tell us for sure,” Lido replied.

“That’s not what I asked,
master of the obvious
,” Sonellio rebutted loudly. “I asked you what you thought.”

I saw Lido’s Adam’s apple catch in his throat. “Chalice was the one who figured it out, but after she mentioned it …” He shrugged. “It makes a lot of sense that someone bludgeoned that victim and tried to hide the body amongst other corpses so that it would look as if the explosion had killed all three of them. There was nothing found in the kitchen that could have caused such significant damage to the victim’s face, especially with his body as far from the blast as it was.”

“That’s better.” Sonellio began to dance around. We were outside in the cold and the weather was nasty. “No better way to hide a homicide. The question is why?”

Well, that’s not completely true—the best way to hide a homicide is to completely dispose of the body, but I’m pretty sure Sonellio wasn’t being literal. “The ID found on the victim says that he’s Leonard Koufax of 5200 15th Avenue, Brooklyn. I took a quick measurement at the crime scene and the victim was about five feet four inches tall, which corresponds with the information listed on his driver’s license.”

“Eye color?” Sonellio asked.

“Green, according to the driver’s license, but the ME will have to separate the eyes from the rest of John Doe’s gray matter casserole before he can determine the color of the irises.”

Sonellio funneled air up and out past his lower lip until hair lifted off his forehead. “This guy Koufax was employed at the temple?”

“Kitchen staff,” Lido replied as he flipped through his notepad. “He worked the breakfast shift Sunday through Friday, and was off on Saturdays in observance of the Jewish Sabbath.”

“What else have you learned from your interviews?” Sonellio asked.

“Koufax was an actor when he was lucky enough to get a paying theater job. He worked mostly off Broadway but had been auditioning for an understudy part in
Pervy Pumps
. It sounded as if he was very happy about the possible new job even though it paid peanuts.”

Sonellio puckered his lips. “That’s impressive. My wife and I saw that show for our anniversary—funny as hell. You’d think they’d be able to pay actors an adequate wage with the ridiculous prices they charge for tickets.”

It was February and an unforgivingly cold one at that. I stared off at the bright blue sky as a shock of frigid wind pierced the fabric of my coat and made me shiver. “We’re off to check out his apartment,” I volunteered, hoping Sonellio would take the hint and tell us to scram. I hadn’t had breakfast or morning coffee and had a serious hankering for an Egg McMuffin and one of those hash brown thingies that are the size and consistency of a potato pancake. No luck unfortunately—he didn’t respond. “We’ll notify next of kin and then move on to canvassing friends and family. There were no cams in the building or at key vantage points near the chabad, so unless one of the locals was out early this morning and saw something out of the ordinary …”
Come on, boss, I’m cold and I’m hungry. Would you please cut us loose? Don’t they say that cigarette smokers are always cold on account of their lousy circulation? Geez!

“Can you give us a minute?” Sonellio asked as he turned to Lido.

“Sure,” Lido replied and went off to warm himself in the car, the lucky bastard.

“What’s up, boss?”

“How’s the kid look?”

How’s he look? Like two hundred and twenty pounds of manly magic. Oh, you mean …
“He’s sharp, sir. He’s inquisitive and perceptive. Has a good head on his shoulders.”
And a butt that looks like it was chiseled by Michelangelo.

“Good to hear. My instincts are usually pretty good. I think he’ll work out just fine. And you … how do you like being the lead?”

“I’m just doing what I’ve always done, sir, just answering a few more questions than when
I
was the newbie.”

“Terrific. I’m glad the two of you are a good fit, and I like the way you’ve developed, Chalice.”

He likes the way I’ve developed?
Christ, I’m no more than one size shy of a custom-made bra—surely he’s noticed. He may be my godfather, but he’s not blind.
Maybe it’s because it’s so cold that my nipples are about to pierce my jacket. Nah, I’m just messing with you—he was referencing my professional development, or didn’t you already know? “Thank you, sir, I’m an honest to God homicide junkie. I live for the hunt.”
Now can I go before one of these nursing structures breaks loose and pokes you in the eye?

“Keep me appraised of his progress and let’s see if we can’t get this one sewed up right away. The press will be quick to label this a hate crime or an act of terrorism, and I don’t need that kind of aggravation.” He reached into his coat pocket. “Shit! I’m all out of Pepto tablets.”

“No, sir, you surely don’t.”
And neither do I.

Chapter Three

“This is a
really
nice leather jacket,” I announced. “
Hey, Lido, get your butt in here and try this on.”

“Nice try,” he yelled from the next room. Koufax had been slight of build and Lido was, well, strapping. There was no way he’d fit into anything the deceased had worn. “Call me when you find his underwear drawer,” he chuckled.

Yes. I am down with that.
Our search had revealed little. The apartment was a one bedroom with a small kitchenette, and a main room that was tastefully but minimally decorated. It was a prewar building and as such the closet space was woefully inadequate for a man with such an extensive wardrobe. The bedroom was crammed full of bins, which were filled with clothing and accessories. “Damn. What a clotheshorse this guy was.”

“A what horse?” Lido shouted. Apparently all the clothing had sound-deadened the apartment.

“A clotheshorse. I’ve never seen a man with so much stuff.”

“That’s not a crime.”

A Tory Burch hand-painted silk scarf was lying atop the dresser. “Maybe not, but I’d kill for one of these.” The deceased had exquisite taste, a true devotee of the world of haute couture, a true fashionista. My hand was still on the Tory Burch scarf, allowing the buttery soft silk to anoint my fingertips when Lido entered the room.

“Caught you in the act,” he said with a grin. “Am I going to have to catalogue the entire inventory to ensure that nothing goes missing?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said with large eyes. “I’m dying to see how I look in this.”

“For real?”

“Yes, for real. Turn your back for a minute.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Of course I am,” I said, responding with a smirk. “Dude, you’ve got to learn when I’m pulling your chain.”

He puffed out his cheeks. “That may take a little time—you’re not always easy to read. So look, I haven’t come across anything evidence worthy.”

“Me neither. Did you bring an evidence collection kit like I told you to?”

He nodded.

“Good. Swab the bathroom sink and drain. Grab hair samples—anything that could be used for a good DNA match. It might be the only way for us to positively ID the deceased.”

“Or rule him out.”

“Correct, or rule him out,” I repeated. I heard a fierce rapping on the door. “Who could that be?”

Lido shrugged. “Want
me
to get it?” he asked in a protective manner.

Ah, isn’t that sweet? He’s worried about me because I’m a girl.
“No worries. My friend, Mr. Glock and I are more than capable of taking care of ourselves. Hit the bathroom sink and don’t forget to use gloves. Who knows what this fashion-crazed little guy was into.”

“Yes, Mom,” he said and pulled a pair of blue gloves from his pocket.

Needless to say, he deserved a nice, straight-up flip of the bird and I provided one. The furious pounding on the door continued unabated. I cast the silk scarf aside and hurried to the door.
Okay, okay. Keep your pants on.

Truman Capote had returned from the dead and was standing at the door replete with geek chic glasses, a polka dot bowtie, and a big-brimmed fedora, which was accented with an orchid and teal-colored ribbon. He was a mere thimble of a man, no more than five foot two or three. He had delicate facial features with a tiny dollop of a nose nestled between topaz eyes that were set off by the brightly colored hatband. “What the hell are you doing in Leonard’s apartment?” he demanded well before I could utter a perfunctory
yes?

My shield was already out for display, but I held it up in front of his face. “NYPD. And you are?”

“I’m Ira Bascom, flatfoot, and you haven’t answered my question.”

Flatfoot? Oh, so it’s gonna be like that, is it?
“What’s your relationship to Mr. Koufax?” I said without allowing my blood pressure to elevate a single digit.

He became irate. “We’re friends, goddamn it. Now
what’s
going on?”

I was about to say “police investigation” but never got the opportunity.

“Is he—oh no.” Bascom gasped and covered his mouth.

I hopped six inches backward, narrowly avoiding the path of his vomit.

“Why don’t you come in?”

He nodded appreciatively, stepping over his spew as he entered the apartment, all the while fighting back tears. “Please tell me, is he all right?”

Lido had no doubt heard the commotion and came running to my rescue. I introduced him to Bascom before continuing. “There was a homicide this morning, Mr. Bascom, but we haven’t been able to make a positive identification.”

He was already holding his forehead when he closed his eyes to deal with the misery. “I can do that,” he bravely offered.

Lido and I looked at each other knowingly. “I’m afraid it may not be that easy,” I said and sat down on the sofa next to him. “You see, a bomb was detonated at the chabad where he worked this morning. Three were killed, but one male victim …” I took a deep breath. “Well, you see, the victim’s face was badly damaged and is unrecognizable.”

Bascom gasped as tears rushed forward, and used his pocket square to dab at his tears. “Oh dear God.” He turned to me with great distress on his face, appealing to me for a shred of hope. “But you’re not absolutely sure that it’s Lenny?”

“The victim’s ID indicated that it was him. However …”

I watched as the little blood left in his face drained away. “Then that’s it,” he said sorrowfully. “Lenny is dead.”

“Not necessarily, Mr. Bascom,” Lido began. “There have been many documented cases where identification of the victim was not completely obvious.”

“But the ID, why would someone else have it?”

“There are a few plausible explanations.” I didn’t feel it necessary to go into my conspiracy theory. After all, I had absolutely no proof that I was right. “Suffice it to say that it may not be him, and that’s why we’re in the process of garnering evidence that will help us establish unmistakable identification. I wish I could tell you more, but I just can’t at the moment.”

Bascom twisted his neck and I heard his vertebrae pop as he tried to release tension. “You said that Lenny’s face is unrecognizable.”

“That’s right,” Lido replied.

Bascom seemed deep in thought as he turned to me and ventured, “What about the rest of him?”

Chapter Four